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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27112268">me and my axe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixnix/pseuds/ixnix'>ixnix</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream Team - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Violence, Halloween, Horror, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:01:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,191</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27112268</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixnix/pseuds/ixnix</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I could kill you in more ways than there’s time to say.”</p><p>---</p><p>short dream team horror fic from the halloween prompts 'neon' and 'axe.' dream chases george through an abandoned laser tag arena with (funnily enough) an axe. </p><p>tw for graphic violence, a lot of blood, losing body parts, and questionable consent with physical intimacy (nothing further than kissing). no 'on-screen' death.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound &amp; Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>168</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>me and my axe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>repeated tw in case you missed it: graphic violence, blood, losing body parts, and non-con physical intimacy (nothing further than kissing). no 'on-screen' death.</p><p>being a oneshot prompt fic, this is very out-of context. assume that dream killed sapnap and then somehow chased george into this laser tag arena (i have no idea how this would happen but please suspend your disbelief lol).</p><p>title is from insane clown posse's 'my axe.'</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s dark. Not so dark that George can’t see his own hands, but dark enough that the room is barely a collection of shapes, lit at odd angles by faintly glowing bulbs that spot the blackness with neon colors. He focuses on his hands, gripping the edge of the railing, the only thing keeping himself from falling to the second floor. Even in the dimness, he can see them shaking. </p><p>His foot scrapes the wall, searching for somewhere to wedge itself, and he exhales in relief when it catches against a protruding box. It’s a stretch- his legs barely reach far enough, and he can’t let go for fear of slipping off the miniscule ledge- but it’s better than nothing. </p><p>A footstep echoes around the space. George nearly gasps, stifling it into his shoulder, arms shaking anew as the sounds draw closer. He breathes as slowly as he can, tightening his grip until his fingers ache with the effort. </p><p>“Georgie…” A voice trails, teasing. The sound of wood scraping wood reaches George’s ears. He ducks down further, balancing as much of his weight on the balls of his feet as possible, trying to take the strain off his upper body. Dangling over the balcony, he feels as exposed as bait on a line. </p><p>The footsteps stop just to the left of him. Glancing up, George can almost see a shadow leaning over the railing. Heart pounding, he presses closer to the wall, praying that the man won’t look his way, <em>oh-God-please-no</em>. </p><p>“Where are you, George?” The shadow shifts in a rustle of movement, a second mass of darkness lifting towards the man’s shoulder. “Aren’t we supposed to be friends? Dream and George, the unstoppable duo?” </p><p>Another scraping sound. George’s blood pumps hot and heavy in his veins. He can feel his pulse throbbing painfully inside his head. </p><p>Dream’s voice is playful when he continues. “Are you still mad about Sapnap?” </p><p>Caught off guard, George’s heart gives a painful stab in his chest, like Dream reached in and pulled it out still beating, like he ripped it apart chamber by chamber with his teeth, greedy as an animal. </p><p>“I’m sorry! He’s just so dull. We’ll have so much more <em>fun</em> now that he’s gone.” Dream laughs, and it’s worse that it sounds no different, that it’s <em>exactly</em> the same as it always is. He’s the same Dream they always knew. It’s just that they never saw it before. </p><p>“If it makes you feel better, he never saw it coming. He had no. Fucking. Idea.” That same terrible laugh bursts ugly from Dream’s mouth. “His head's so much prettier when it’s not attached.” </p><p>George can’t conceal the wordless noise of rage that escapes him, crawling furiously out of his throat like it aims to get revenge. He curses himself for it as soon as it happens, hoping beyond hope that Dream didn’t hear, but he knows he’d never be that lucky. Desperately wishing, George fixes his eyes on the frozen figure above him, ready to drop at the slightest sight of movement. </p><p>There’s a tense silence. The whole world seems poised on the tip of a pin, balancing between hell and salvation. </p><p>A single delighted word. </p><p>“Gotcha.” </p><p>There’s barely a flash of movement before a blazing pain explodes into George’s left hand and he cries out, instinctively releasing the railing with his other hand. His feet slip from the box and he falls, narrowly avoiding another wall decoration on the way down and crashing into the ground with a <em>thud!</em> that sends a spark of pain ricocheting up his spine. Cradling his left hand into his shirt, George scrambles backward until his back hits the wall, tucking himself between it and a stack of strategically-placed crates. Blood soaks into the fabric, drenching it, and he feels around with his right hand. All four of the fingers on his left hand are gone, chopped clear to the last knuckle. He nearly sobs with the realization, washing out on a wave of renewed agony. </p><p>Dream’s voice breaks into his panic. “Come out, come out, George!” His footsteps tap down the ramp to the lower floor, circling like a shark until he’s blocking the only exit George can see, backlit by the red of the exit sign. Propped against his shoulder, Dream’s axe glints in the light, broken up by darker splotches of blood. </p><p>“This game is stretching on so long. Don’t you just want to be <em>done?</em>” All of a sudden, Dream swings his axe into one of the light bulbs surrounding the exit sign. It shatters over his shoulders in a spray of sparks and glass, and George nearly jumps out of his skin. He can just see the glint of Dream’s eyes when he turns. </p><p>“I know you’re tired.” Dream whispers, barely loud enough to hear. “I know you’re hurting. Why won’t you let me help?” </p><p>Knowing that holding his breath will just make him gasp, George opens his mouth wide, breathing as gently and fully as possible. Dream’s ducked back out of sight, hidden by the dim lights and the corners of the crates, and George turns his head frantically, straining to see or hear anything that might help him discern the man’s position. </p><p>“I could make it all go away, George. Don’t you want that?” </p><p>George shivers, pressing his bloodied hand tighter against the cloth of his shirt. Even as his brain screams to keep going, even as his heart aches to see another friendly person, it’s tempting. His arms and legs feel like dead weights dragging him down, and even the methodic pulsing of his blood seems traitorous. Life is a burden he doesn’t want to carry. </p><p>But he has to. </p><p>Shaking his head, George blinks hard, forcefully resetting his thoughts. Dream’s voice came from the right- he’s abandoned his post by the door. Good. </p><p>Biting his cheek to keep himself calm, George creeps from the stack of crates to an isolated wall nearby, flattening himself against it and peering as best he can into the darkness on both ends. His heart beats frantically, thump-thump-thump in his chest, and the few lights around him scroll happily through their colors, throwing the dark stain on his shirt into red-blue-green as he waits, scared- fucking <em>terrified</em>- to keep going. </p><p>“Georgie…” The voice comes, and George bites his cheek harder to suppress a sound, pressing his good hand against his mouth to seal in the noise. “George, won’t you come talk to me? I miss you.” </p><p>He nearly chokes on a sob. Dully, his mind registers that Dream’s advancing again, drawing closer to his new hiding place. Cautiously, he creeps around the wall, shortening the distance between himself and the exit. </p><p>“George, don’t you want to come hug me? I want to hug you. I <em>love</em> you.” </p><p>The words feel like a knife to the heart, like roofing nails to his eyes, like Dream flaying him open and laying him out for dinner. </p><p>“I <em>love</em> you, George, don’t you love me?” </p><p>He sounds so real, so familiar. What if he really is sorry, what if- what if they could go back to normal, what if…</p><p>The remaining exit lights glint off Dream’s axe as he comes back into sight, swinging it from one shoulder to the other. George shakes the thoughts away and practically crawls to the next box, cowering down into its shadow. If he can just loop around to the left...he’s almost made it. He’s <em>so close</em>, almost side-by-side with Dream, nearly out of the range of his peripherals. George breathes- in, out, in- and forces himself away from safety, scurrying to the next decorative barrel as quietly as he can without sacrificing speed. </p><p>“Uh, oh.” </p><p>George presses his fingernails into his good palm, forehead pinched in worry. His left hand spikes with sudden pain. </p><p>“Uh, oh, Georgie. I can hear you moving.” He watches Dream step away from the door, approaching the barrel where George is hiding. “I can hear you tip-toeing around back here.” </p><p>Furiously, George measures the distance between himself and the door. Could he beat Dream there? Probably not. But if he found a way to delay him…</p><p>Dream rounds the corner of the barrel, and George explodes into action. He lunges, aiming his shoulder directly for Dream’s gut, and the man topples with a grunt. As he falls, the axe swings forward, catching the edge of George’s right shoulder, and he can’t bite back the resulting shout of pain before it escapes his mouth. On the floor, Dream hisses in surprise, already shoving himself upward. </p><p>Slipping slightly on the floor, George turns on his heel and sprints, leaving Dream behind. He reaches the door, yanks the handle until it opens, and pulls it shut behind him, forcing himself not to look back until it slams. Wide-eyed, he stares frantically through the small window, trying to feel the knob for a lock. </p><p>Through the glass, he sees Dream stand, watches him approach the door. His fingers scrabble faster, but there’s not a lock, and he resolves to simply hold the door, glancing around the hallway for a chair or anything to wedge under the handle. </p><p>A flash of movement from the window draws his eyes. George just has time to watch Dream pull back the axe before it shatters the window, spraying glass all over George’s face and shoulders and opening new cuts on his exposed skin. He whimpers pathetically, wiping his face with his left hand, still gushing blood, but doesn’t release the door handle. At the back of his mind, a voice whispers: <em>The window is too small. He can’t get through. He can’t get through. God, tell me he can’t get through. </em></p><p>“George…” </p><p>George sobs, leaning backwards, putting himself as far away as possible. Closing his eyes, he scours his mind for a solution, but there’s nothing there. </p><p>“I could kill you, George. I could do it.” </p><p>If he runs, Dream will just catch him again. </p><p>“You saw Sapnap. You know I could.” </p><p>He might as well give in. </p><p>“I could chop through this door. I could reach through the window and break your neck.”</p><p>It’s useless, anyway. </p><p>“I could kill you in more ways than there’s time to say.” </p><p>A hand touches George’s chin, pressing right into one of the cuts. He swallows, breathing hard and fast through his nose, but doesn’t try to wrench away. It strokes across his jaw like he’s precious. </p><p>“I could, but I won’t.”</p><p>George’s heart almost stops beating. He holds his breath, not trusting it, not daring to hope. </p><p>“The thing is, George...you’re so much prettier like this.” The hand slides into his hair, pulling him closer to the glass, tilting his head until his neck protests. He doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t want to see Dream doing this to him. “So pretty with your face all bloody, with your eyes so wide and terrified. So gorgeous for me.” </p><p>George tries to block it out, repulsion crawling over his skin, but somewhere in the back of his mind a tiny golden bell is ringing. If Dream can be believed, which he definitely shouldn’t be, he’ll make it out. He’ll live. </p><p>“It would be such a shame to waste it. Treasures are made to be savored for a long time, not all at once. Roses are better blooming than cut and laid to rot.” Dream’s laughter puffs over George’s face, pulled tight to the empty frame of the window. “I won’t leave you, of course. Then you’d be someone else’s treasure. But…I think you can be a treat. Something to have once in a while. On special occasions only.” </p><p>George feels lips against his cheek and tries to shy away, but the hand in his hair is iron and he can’t squirm free. He presses against the door with his forearms, trying to lever himself away, but it’s no use. Weak from blood loss and trapped, there’s nothing he can do. </p><p>“It’s okay. I know you won’t want to come with me. I know you won’t want to wait. So I’ll help you out.” The lips trace closer to George’s mouth, pressing briefly to the corner of his lips in a teasing kiss. “I’ll just have to come visit sometimes. Just when I think you may have forgotten.” </p><p>Finally, their mouths meet. George keeps his lips pressed firmly together, not letting Dream in, still fighting to pull away. Blood trickles down his nose. </p><p>After a few moments, Dream withdraws, licking a trail along George’s jaw to gather the blood on his tongue. “I love you, George. Even if you don’t believe me.” </p><p>His hand and breath disappear. George hears footsteps pounding away from the door, the swing and thud of a blade meeting wood, then the blaring annoyance of a fire alarm. Exhaling slowly, he sinks to the ground, leaning against the door to keep himself upright. </p><p>He’s still there when the authorities arrive ten minutes later.<br/>
---</p><p>From the safety of a nearby rooftop, Dream watches two paramedics carry George out on a stretcher. He smiles softly and ducks away, already anticipating the next time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading! feel free to comment or check out some of my other work (mostly dt + sbi)!</p><p>i know this fic makes dream a little sadistic, but i love writing horror fic, soo...sorry if it's too out of character.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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